The One Where Bruce Has No Boundries (but Maria's sort-of okay with it
by smthwallflower
Summary: Established Bruce Banner/Maria Hill - in which Tony injects Bruce with a 'happy drug'; Steve can't manage to keep the good Doctor corralled; and Maria doesn't understand what the hell is happening right now. Aka, mindless fluff and just enough plot to keep it from being crack.


Note: There's a sad lack of Bruce/Maria shippers out there, and I'm determined to rectify that.

Shamelessly inspired by both The West Wing ('Bartlett on pain meds') and a conversation with my friend Nat, who's one of the few other shippers out there :P

.o.o.o.

The Hulk went to sleep in the middle of a mission.

They're not sure why, exactly; the Green Guy just curled up, pressed his arms right up against his chest, and fell asleep. Shrunk down to Bruce two minutes later, and Steve cradled the doctor's body close to his chest as he took him back to the Helicarrier, the torpedo robots mostly subdued already.

They weren't sure what was wrong with him in medical. They had theories, sure, but the team deferred to Tony's sound scientific judgment as he swore at SHEILD medics and stormed around the lab.

Steve was still holding out hope for Bruce to wake up when Tony came up, four hours later, with a tube in his hand.

"Figured it out," he told Steve, oozing with confidence while Steve blinked rapidly, pretending he _hadn't_ been dozing. Tony's confidence didn't necessary mean much, in Steve's books. The following words Steve didn't _really_ understand, but Tony was better at this stuff than anyone. Well, anyone that wasn't currently unconscious. And Tony wouldn't knowingly harm his friend that much Steve was sure of.

Bruce opened his eyes five minutes later with a dopey smile; Tony grinned and said, 'sweet', then left.

"Steve," Bruce said, drawing out the e's, and Steve narrowed his eyes in anticipation, beucase that didn't sound promising. "Steve," Bruce says again, and Steve waits for the inevitable follow up but it proves to be… not inevitable.

Bruce smiles lazily at him for a minute before the beeping of his heart monitor gets his attention. "Oh, that's good," he mutters to himself, self-assured, getting up and shifting around to tap the screen of the machine.

Steve sends a text message to Tony, asking him what the hell he did.

"Good lines, that's right. Squiggly up and squiggly down - good." Bruce nods at them, pets the machine for another second. Then he's trying to stand up and Steve barely gets to him in time before he starts falling. Steve's phone buzzed against the floor, where it's fallen from his lap in his lunge for the doctor.

"Maybe you should lie down," Steve suggests, gently pushing Bruce back to the bed – Bruce isn't nearly strong enough to resist, and he falls back like every one of Steve's attempts at a soufflé.

Bruce's hand lingers on his arm, squeezing his bicep as Steve pivots his legs onto the hospital cot. "You're strong," Bruce tells him, like he's realizing it for the first time, and Steve would laugh if he weren't so concerned.

"Yeah. I am."

It's precautionary, Steve tells himself, the way he tucks Bruce back into bed, pushing the blanket underneath him until he's securely bundled in.

Bruce safety settled back on the bed, Steve picks up his phone from the floor and opens a message from Tony…. which contains about a dozen random letters and seven dashes. "Stay here," he tells Bruce, who nods, entranced with the ceiling. Steve steps out of the room and down the hall, calling Tony and spending two minutes verbally sparring with JARVIS until he can get Tony on the phone.

.o.

"Any more questions?"

Maria surveys the room, but she doesn't see any pinched brows or slight frowns. Well, Sanders looks confused, but he's useless at field work – Maria's making a mental note to take him aside and explain things in a tech-friendly manner later, when the door opens.

Bruce wanders in, looking around at the agents with a dopey smile on his face.

She's seen that dopey smile before, but she's pretty sure _that's_ not the reason he's got it.

"Doctor Banner?" she asks, her voice cutting through the startled hush of the room.

Bruce's shoulders jump, slightly, and he turns to look at her. He stares at her for a couple seconds, and then… _smiles_.

"Maria," he coos – literally **coos** , and every agent in the room keeps unnaturally still as he comes around the long table and takes the empty chair to her right. "Maria," he coos again, his entire body falling forward – his elbows catch him on the table, and he stares at her.

There's something wrong with him. That much is clear, and yet she doesn't feel threatened in the least – not the way he looks at her, his eyes all soft and gooey, licking his lips.

Maria clears her throat, looking around the room again, _daring_ anyone to speak a word about it. It's SHIELD, these things happen… bi-weekly, at minimum. "Anyway. As I was saying – any other quest- "

Bruce takes her hand, which is tolerable, but she has to stop when he tugs it across the table. It's impossible to keep going, not with everyone's focus on the Avenger and her reaction. For a moment she's worried about what he's going to do with it - but Bruce's fingers just start tracing patterns on her hand, and she deigns to ignore him, willing the heat in her cheeks down and away.

Deputy Director Maria Hill does _not_ blush.

"Any other _questions_ ," she repeats, and eight pale faces stare back at her.

A lowkey, steady squeaking starts and she slowly turns her head to see Bruce shifting his chair closer to her, attempting to be inconspicuous and somehow failing brilliantly. Her face never breaks its unimpressed hold-pattern.

"Doctor _Banner_ ," she repeats tersely, pulling her hand away from him, and his relaxed smile turns pinched, confusion finally seeping into his eyes. "That's enough."

"Maria's a _great_ name," he tells her, randomly, as if that will somehow explain what the hell is happening. "Isn't it a great name?" he asks, and she bites her lip, brows furrowed as he glances around at the agents, seeking backup. Her sharp glare follows his, and her subordinates smartly keep their mouths shut.

"Sure," she agrees, "It's a _fine_ name. Now let's get you back to medical, shall we, Doctor Banner?" she suggests, standing and pulling him up. But he looks hurt, actually hurt, like she's suddenly whipped out a knife and stabbed him with it, and she's not sure _what_ she feels so guilty about.

The hurt turns to contrition in an instance, and he feels the need to inform the room smartly, "She only calls me that when I'm in trouble." His attention comes back to her, earnest and oh so sweet. "Am I in trouble?" he asks, and somehow he's gotten a hold of her hand again, and she squeezes his fingers against her better judgment.

"No. And all of _you_ ," she directs to the handful of agents, "Better keep this to yourselves. Dismissed."

The agents can't get out of the room fast enough, and Bruce has started to express petulance.

Actual petulance.

She's seen the man redirect and distract, shut down and retreat – politely excuse himself, and close his eyes in abject frustration with her. Not once has she seen him _petulant_.

"Bruce," she says softly, placating, and his head swivels over to her, reproached and clearly feeling quite justified in it. "Where are you supposed to be right now?"

He stares at her for a second before, nodding, patting her hand confidently, "Right here."

Oh god.

"Okay," she bites her lip, trying to keep back the smile. "Let's get you back to medical."

When she moves he grips her hand harder, uses it to pull her against him – to be fair, she doesn't exactly resist, letting the line of their bodies press together.

"Yes?" she asks, amused by the boldness, and the utter ridiculousness of the situation.

Bruce's head falls against her shoulder, before turning and nuzzling against her neck. _Bastard_ , she thinks, and it takes an inhuman effort to resist the urge to fall right back against him. "Nothing," he mutters, and she can feel his lips moving against her neck – and it's getting out of hand, quickly, so she pulls away before she can't.

"Let's go," she orders, and he pushes his fingers through hers; if that's going to make him follow her and stop trying to neck her in the middle of the Triskelion, it's a fair price to pay.

.o.

The look on Steve's face is priceless.

"Bruce, I left you alone for _five_ minutes!"

Bruce has been staring at her neck pretty consistently since they left the briefing room, and Maria hands him off. "Stay with Steve," she tells him, and he grabs her jacket before she can leave, pulling her back in.

Steve's the only one in the hallway with them, and affection seems to help settle him. So she lets him give her a kiss; it's a bit sated and mellow, but he seems happy when they pull apart. "Stay with Steve," she repeats, giving him another quick peck on the lips. "Rogers," she nods curtly, before making a hasty (but not fleeing) exit. If she lingers any more she's going to get the urge to stay, and she won't be able to handle it if Steve says anything.

"Boy, she's pretty," Bruce grins weakly, and Steve holds his arm to keep him from going after her.

"You and Hill, huh?" he asks, a little surprised but-not by the revelation. There had to be _something_ going on, he just hadn't known it was this serious.

Bruce frowns at him, pulling his arm free (gently). "Yeah," he tells him, and Bruce has never been patronizing to him before so this is a new feeling. "Ages ago. Jeez Steve, where've you been."

Fair enough, Steve figures, and he catches Bruce as the man tries to head down the hallway again. "Bed," he instructs, slightly exasperated, steering Bruce towards the med bay room. "Tony says it'll wear off in a few hours. So sleep it off."

.o.

Maria's sparring with Reynolds at the gym, when Bruce comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her torso.

And Maria's sparring with Reynolds, so her body takes Bruce down in a second, pinning him to the mat, hand against his throat. The hand she pulls away almost as quickly as it gets there, and he stares up at her, wide-eyed.

" _Bruce_!" she hisses, reaching the end of her tether, and he blinks up at her. "You can't _do_ that to me!"

"Ow," he says eventually with a much-delayed wincing, and she eases back so her weighs on his hips, hands planted on his chest to keep her steady– a familiar enough position for them.

"Where's Steve?" she demands, and he looks up behind him at Reynolds, glaring at the man.

"I don't like that guy," he tells her, loudly, and she sighs.

The look she gives Reynolds is apologetic. "We're done."

"Good," Bruce mutters, and he's got his hands around her wrists – and _no_ , that's not happening, so she twists them around, catches Bruce's hands in hers, and brings them down around her knees where they can't get into trouble.

"What is _happening_ right now?" she demands, and he smiles up at her, oblivious. _Damn_ him and that smile.

"You're real pretty," he tells her gravely, and she wants to drop her head and smack it against something a few times – except that something's going to be him, and that's not going to end well for anyone, so she can't, and this whole thing is really starting to get on her nerves.

"Are you done?" she demands, the whole of the gym watching the exchange, and she sees a phone out of the corner of her eye, and she swears she's going to crush that thing to ungodly hell, never mind the TonyCloud or whatever the hell Stark's calling it nowadays.

Bruce wilts under her – good. Finally, he gets it. Whatever they might have going on as an extracurricular (it's more than, but she ignores that), does not give him license to go around harassing her. Not when she's working, whatever the hells' wrong with him be damned.

"Okay," he mutters, and she gets off him, hauling him up and setting him towards the door.

"Find Steve. Go to sleep. Stop bugging me."

It's a little cold, but she's supposed to be the Deputy Director around here. He can't be running around undermining her like this.

Bruce shuffles to the door remorsefully, and she doesn't understand why she's the one left feeling like an asshole.

.o.

Maria rounds the corner and he's standing at her door, and she can't honestly say she's surprised. "What the hell did you do to section D?"

Bruce wrings his hands, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "The sensors were out of sync so I… sync'd them."

"You almost set Rogers on fire. I expect this from Stark, not from you."

"I'm sorry?" he tries, genuinely looking contrite, and she sighs – what is her life? – before opening the door and pulling him in. At least Banner in her office is better than Banner out on the loose. He's determined to hunt her down, apparently, so maybe this way he'll stay in one place.

Maria closes the door behind them, and he takes a few steps in. "Wow," he breathes, head swiveling like he's never seen the place before. He goes to the couch and presses a gentle hand against the cushion – and then pats it happily.

"Bruce, you've been to my office before."

It's news to him, and he turns to look at her, mouth slightly open. "Really?"

What did she do to deserve this? "You've fallen asleep on that couch. Several times."

"Oh," Bruce says; like it's news to him, but good news, and he looks stupidly pleased with himself. "Well."

In the privacy of her office, it's a lot harder not to find him endearing. "Yeah. You done now?"

His hand slides against the edge of her desk, and he turns around at her question, leaning back against the corner - misjudging his balance or the end of the desk, Maria's not sure which one – and nearly takes her shelving unit out.

This time she can't help but laugh, just a little, pulling him around the waist, away from danger. "Bruce. You're going to hurt yourself."

"No, I'm not," he answers smugly, and she can't help but raise her eyebrows, disbelieving,

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And why's that?" she asks; his arms wrap around her back and she presses closer against him, one hand in his hair and the other curled lightly around his neck.

"Because," he says dramatically, his eyes catching hers, and his confident grin slowly morphs into the dopey, content smile from before – the one he rarely let's her see. Maria leans closer, letting her nose touch his, but he doesn't close the distance, just keeps watching her with that funny look in his eye, the one that makes her feel a little too much.

A minute or two passes and she shifts, slightly. "Bruce?"

He blinks, surprised, his arms tightening against her. He searches her face for clues, but he's not making any connections. "… was I saying something?"

This time she can't help it as her head falls against his shoulder – oh god.

"I was, wasn't I," he deduces seriously, and she pulls herself away, taking his elbows and steering him to the couch,

"Yes. But it's okay. Lie down, Bruce."

It isn't the fight she's expecting. Bruce stretches out on the couch as she crouches near his head, stroking back the greasy curls and cupping his chin. "Sleep."

"Okay," he answers, and he looks so happy when she kisses him that she does it again. There's a blanket on the backrest of the couch, and she drapes it over him as he closes his eyes.

 _Thank God_.

.o.

Bruce lasts five minutes before he's moving again.

Maria studiously ignores him, keeping her eyes on the reports in front of her.

Banner **crawls** from the couch to her desk, slinking against the side paneling like there's a dimension where this could be considered stealthy.

When he rounds the corner and starts tugging at her pant legs, she can't help it. Maria turns her gaze down at him, eyebrows up, baffled. "Yes?"

"What?" he asks, blinking up at her innocently.

Her lips press together, amused and slightly worried. This is a new caliber of not-normal. "What exactly did Stark _do_ to you?"

She's not expecting an answer and she doesn't get one – Bruce falls down to his elbows, and soon lays out on his stomach. A sigh escapes him as he lets his limbs sprawl out on the floor, a hand reaching her foot, pulling at the hem of her pants.

Maria stays still for two minutes, after which she decides he's not going to do anything significantly weirder than that.

The picking stops eventually, the movements settling. She doesn't dare look for fear of starting him up again.

.o.

There's a harsh knock on the door and Maria holds her breath, praying the weight of Banner's hand on her ankle will hold.

"Come in," she calls as loudly as she dares when it doesn't move. Bruce _finally_ passed out. His hand is wrapped around her ankle, and he's sleeping on his stomach, face pillowed in his other hand – he's going to be aching when he wakes up.

Steve comes through the door, his hair singed and a bright red blotch on his cheek. "Is he here?"

Maria looks down at Bruce's sleeping form, and looks back to nod.

Bruce's feet poke out from behind the desk and Steve takes a step before stopping. "Um."

"Just leave him."

Maria sighs, willing to admit defeat if this peace holds out for a little while longer.

.o.

Bruce groans and Maria is 80% sure that means he's back to normal. He has, after all, just spend three hours napping on the floor, and while she did nothing to prevent it, she doesn't exactly _relish_ the idea either.

"Bruce," she calls softly, waiting until he's coherent and present. Waiting until the dreams don't lingering any more and her touch won't startle him into a panic. Who knows what kind of sleep he'd gotten while on Stark's concoction.

Bruce groans again, his hand dropping off her ankle – she swivels in her seat, and he lifts his head.

"Hey," she tells him, and he winces as he twists it to look at her, blinking in confusion:

"What?"

"Yeah," she answers, nodding, and it only serves to confuse him more – but after what she's gone through, he sort of deserves it.

He gets to his knees, pauses to hiss, and then uses the desk to pull himself up all the way; he leans against it heavily, hip and hand. "Why was I on the floor?"

Maybe there's still a bit of whatever it was lingering in his blood stream; she hasn't seen him look this groggy after a nap in a very long time.

"You wanted to be on the floor," she tells him as his hands rub at his neck – and she starts feeling a little bad for him. They're not exactly elastic-like 20-somethings anymore. "Insisted. Wouldn't let me go anywhere. It was awful.

Realization dawns, and Maria's not sure if he's remembering, or understanding the implications. "Oh god," he mutters, burying his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry. Oh, god."

And how can she not take pity on that?

"It's fine," she soothes, reaching out to tug him towards her, standing to meet him. "It was sort of sweet. With a side of incredibly frustrating."

"I'm sorry?" he tries again, giving her a kiss this time to prove it – and it's nice, familiar, and certain; not at all like the passive acceptance of before.

When she pulls away, his head folds down to her shoulder – embarrassment? exhaustion? – and she hugs him close, stroking at the hair against the nape of his neck. "It's fine," she reassures. "You can make it up to me tonight."

The shift in his body is slight, but there – his arms tighten up, fingers pressing against her back to keep her flush against him as he kisses the soft curve of her shoulder. "Or now?" he suggests, pulling away slightly, and she can feel the grin of his mouth.

"Or now," she agrees, and he better not forget the couch again after today.


End file.
